Walking…Imagine

Imagination

I take Xanax because I imagine the worst. I ruminate. I turn things over and over and over in my head. I beat a dead horse. I worry incessantly. I imagine terrible scenarios. When my children were young and I would kiss them goodbye as they went off to school, I would wonder if that was the last time I would see them, and so I would say goodbye, have a happy and relaxing day and remember Mom loves you!
I would be morbid. I would imagine who would come to my funeral. I would wonder how the many different types of people that I know would look upon each other and what they would think perhaps wondering the walks of life I’ve had; perhaps wondering about the journey I took this lifetime because there is great diversity in the people I call good acquaintances or people who call me friend.
My childhood was unpleasant. I imagined so very much during childhood. Sometimes I imagined, as I suppose so many young girls do, that I might have been put with the wrong family and that I was actually a princess who belonged in a castle; not with roaches, pedophilic men and welfare powdered eggs.
I imagined evil things. I imagined stabbing many of my mother’s boyfriends at different times for different intrusions into my privacy/intimacy and that of my sisters. I also wanted to stab them for continuing to enable my mother’s awful behavior by feeding her liquor. They were all gross looky-loos, and I almost always imagined stabbing them. Not to death; not over and over. Just stab them and make them leave. Stab them and say, hey, get out buddy.
I imagine myself in Washington, DC. I imagine myself in Congress. I imagine my loud, unapologetic, in-your-face, tell-the-truth, owe-no one soapbox. I imagine myself before all of these stodgy white men speaking intelligently but speaking the “unspoken” hush hush truth in 4 inch pumps, perfectly quaffed hair, perfect make-up, designer size 0 suit with an articulate vocabulary that will shut them up for 5 minutes. I imagine myself making a mark.
I imagine my journey is a winding road, and I’m still walking it.

 

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Kat

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